


Nothing Happens Unless First We Dream

by myrmidryad



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-07
Updated: 2012-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-07 04:16:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/426827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrmidryad/pseuds/myrmidryad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin's imagination is a cruel place, and sometimes all it takes is an epidemic of truth for the best things to happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Happens Unless First We Dream

Merlin had always known he had an overactive imagination. Maybe it was a side-effect of having magic. He didn’t know. But he did know it was being particularly unhelpful where a certain prince was concerned. 

So okay, Merlin had a healthy amount of desire for said prince, but that shouldn’t have been a problem. He was only human, after all – he’d had crushes before. Unfortunately, none of his other crushes had actually looked him in the eye when they spoke, and he’d never had to be in such close proximity to them every single day. And during the course of those days, he had to undress and dress Arthur a stupid number of times. Lots of agonising minutes when Arthur would just stand there, tall and blonde and fair and stupidly handsome and make small talk, and Merlin would have to do the hard stuff like buckle armour round his thighs, and tie his belt, and pull shirts over his gorgeous, ridiculously wide chest. 

His job was hard enough as it was, without his imagination then constantly jumping in with questions like, _what would his chest feel like under Merlin’s cheek?_ While Merlin was less than an inch from said chest. And _how would those arms feel wrapped around him from behind?_ While Merlin was tying the little leather laces on the vambrace. 

It really wasn’t even the slightest bit helpful. 

And it got steadily worse, as Arthur wasn’t always in Arthur’s chambers while Merlin was cleaning, and it gave him the perfect opportunity to slip off his boots and just lie for a minute or so in the big, soft bed and wonder quietly to himself how it would feel to wake up in it every morning. He’d turn his face into the pillow and inhale the scent of a sleeping Arthur – soft, scented with the soap he occasionally washed his hair with, something musty not quite like sweat, and something deeper and more tantalising that was somehow all Arthur. 

He was being stupid, he knew. Stupid, and pathetic, and girly. Still, he found he couldn’t help himself imagining different scenarios in the wee small hours of the day, when he was doing boring, dull tasks like sweeping Gaius’ chambers or cleaning Arthur’s armour or bashing the dents out of his shield or sorting different potions for Gaius again or making an elixir for a sore throat (and somewhere in him, he knew he was hugely proud for not needing to concentrate anymore while making the small potions, because he’d somehow become _good_ at it). 

Scenarios where something would happen…perhaps they’d go on a hunting trip together, just him and Arthur, and it would rain, and maybe even flood. They’d have to climb a tree and sleep in it together, pressed close to protect themselves from the chill and the wet. And then Arthur would look at him for a long, long moment, and Merlin would look at him right back, the rain thundering down around them and dripping down their necks, and he’d shiver, and Arthur would say something obvious, but beautiful, like, “You’re cold,” and Merlin would nod and say, “Yes.” And Arthur would cup his face, maybe just to feel how cold he was and because there was no other available skin to check, and they’d stare at each other a little more, and then they’d lean in and their kiss would taste like the rain. 

And then Merlin would jerk to his senses and swear and kick the wall and hate himself for being such a fool. Not to mention a hopeless romantic, clearly. Kisses in the rain? He thought to himself disgustedly. What next? 

Well next came along scenarios like rescues. Both ways – sometimes he’d be the one saving Arthur, sometimes Arthur would be the one saving him. Because while he’d saved Arthur so many times now it was getting quite ridiculous, and he’d have to have a long talk with the prat to drill it through his thick skull that he didn’t have to be so noble _all the bloody time_ , you could always have too much of something, and he secretly liked the idea of being saved by Arthur. It had only happened twice, both concerning poison, but it made something in Merlin deeply happy to know that Arthur would defy his father and drink poison for him. Horrifying at the time of course, but afterwards, Merlin remembered sitting back on his heels and watching Arthur sleep and marvelling at the other man’s stupidity and bravery. 

His imagination supplied a whole bunch of scenarios to go along with those ideas. 

A scenario similar to that particular quest, where Arthur had drunk fake poison for Merlin and was lying unconscious. He wouldn’t wake up for a while, and then Merlin would build up a fire to keep away the cold darkness brought. He’d be sitting next to it, one side of his face hot and the other chilled, because he wanted to keep an eye on Arthur in case he awoke. And then he would, and he’d be a bit of a prat, of course – “Is this heaven? Because if it is, I think I’ve been cheated.” – and he and Merlin would bicker lightly for a short while, before silence fell and Merlin wouldn’t look at him to say, “You drank poison for me. Why?” 

And Arthur would kneel next to him and sigh and say, “Isn’t it obvious?” and when Merlin shook his head and stared at his knees (pulled up close to his chest because it was cold despite the fire), Arthur would put a hand on one knee and maybe say, “Look at me,” Merlin would do so, and Arthur would move his hand to Merlin’s cheek, the hot one that had been turned to the fire, and his hand would feel cool and welcome there. 

Merlin knew it would feel cool and welcome because he’d been sitting by the fire in Arthur’s chambers some days before that, polishing his armour, and when Arthur had left the room to answer a summons from his father, Merlin had put aside the breastplate and polish rag for a moment and touched his own hand to his face, and closed his eyes and imagined it was Arthur’s. 

He felt trapped and angry that Arthur could unknowingly make him do such things, and he finished off the armour quickly (he had _not_ been taking longer to wait for Arthur to leave the room, he hadn’t), leaving before Arthur returned, citing tiredness when Arthur questioned him the next day. 

The scenarios kept on coming, and nothing Merlin did could stop it. And quite a significant part liked it, liked thinking about it and Arthur being so close, so intimate. Because not all his scenarios concerned the first kiss or the first anything. Sometimes he imagined what it would be like to have been kissing Arthur for a long time. 

They’d be comfortable with each other. Arthur would wait impatiently for Merlin to bring him his tray at the end of the day and when the door opened, he’d take the food from him and dump it carelessly on the table, turning back to Merlin and pushing him gently back against the wall. Equal height, they’d see into each other’s eyes and Arthur would smile, bright and wide and beautiful, and kiss him. 

Merlin would kiss him back, maybe spin them so Arthur was the one against the wall, and kiss the corner of his lips, the line of his jaw, his adam’s apple, the dip at the base of his throat. They’d be touching all down their fronts, and Merlin would just lean into Arthur because Arthur was slightly broader and could support his weight like that easily. He’d rest his hands on Arthur’s shoulders, and tuck his elbows under Arthur’s arms and slide a leg between his and Arthur would just hold him close, warm and heavy and so, so real, his arms enclosing Merlin’s upper arms and sides, linking at the small of his back, no space between their bodies. 

Something warm and pleasant burned in the pit of his stomach and Merlin leaned back against the wall, waiting for Arthur to return from practise. When the prince did enter the room, he was in a bad mood, and Merlin got to work in silence, still slightly dazed, his imagination warring with real life. He untied the straps and unbuckled the buckles and pulled the hauberk up and over Arthur’s head, accidentally-on-purpose angling his hand to brush Arthur’s hair – slightly damp in little sticky-up strands. Merlin wanted to feel it underwater and brush it soft again afterwards with his fingers. Slipping off the vambrace, his fingers brushed over the back of Arthur’s hand, and he wondered what Arthur’s fingers would feel like on his chest, down his sides. The nails were short, fingertips blunt and palms wide. What would it feel like to have Arthur’s palm pressed across his heart for real? 

“Cat got your tongue, Merlin?” Arthur spoke, a touch sarcastic and angry at whatever had put him in his mood. 

“Hm?” Merlin looked up, and met Arthur’s eyes. He had a smudge of something like dirt along his cheekbone, and Merlin ignored the urge to get a cloth and wipe it away. “Oh, no. I can just tell you’re in a mood.” 

“I am not in a mood,” Arthur cried indignantly. 

“Really,” Merlin raised an eyebrow and smirked, “alright, sure. Of course you’re not in a mood. You’re just scowling for no reason at all.” 

“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur rolled his eyes and pushed Merlin away – gently, despite his ire. Still, Merlin stumbled and dropped the vambrace, and Arthur rolled his eyes again. “Hopeless. Why are you even my servant?” 

“Because everyone else would rather work for a kinder master?” Merlin suggested as he bent to retrieve it, and tried not to think about how it would feel to have Arthur grip his hips from behind and pull him upright himself. “What happened, anyway?” 

“What makes you think anything happened?” Arthur muttered, turning to lean against the table, sitting on the edge. 

Merlin didn’t even dignify that with an answer, just gave Arthur one of his practised withering looks (he’d learned from the best, after all – the power of Gaius’ eyebrow was legendary), and Arthur ducked his head sulkily. “Nothing at all really. Just Gregory and Yannis being idiots.” 

“What did they do?” Merlin asked, piling the armour on the table in a way that would make it easy to carry down to Gaius’. 

“Ignored my orders and started playing around behind my back,” Arthur tried to sound offhand instead of angry. “And of course Gregory got hurt.” 

“How bad?” Merlin asked, wondering if he’d see him with Gaius when he went down. 

“Yannis accidentally cut off two of his fingers,” Arthur said in a low, tight voice. “He’ll have to wait for it to heal and then learn how to hold a sword again from the basics. It’ll take him months to get up to his previous standard.” 

“Oh.” Merlin said uselessly. “He’ll be okay though, won’t he?” 

“Yes, Merlin,” Arthur sighed, “but this sort of thing shouldn’t happen. I’m supposed to be able to rely on my knights like extensions of my own limbs. If they can’t even get through a simple training drill without doing something stupid like that, how can I trust them? And how can they trust me? I’m meant to stop things like this from happening.” 

“You can’t take responsibility for all of them,” Merlin snorted, “that’s just daft. People do dumb things, and they make mistakes, which they won’t make again. I bet you none of them will try mucking around behind your back after this.” 

“They shouldn’t need the incentive,” Arthur shook his head. “They’re supposed to do what I say, not make mistakes and then try and make up for it. By then it’s too late, Merlin, don’t you see?” He looked up and met Merlin’s eyes with a frown. “A mistake like that in battle could have cost Gregory so much more than just his fingers.” 

“But you weren’t in battle,” Merlin said gently. “You were training. That’s why you train, isn’t it? That’s why everyone practises whatever they do – you make the mistakes as you practise so you won’t make them when you do it for real.” 

Arthur sighed and dropped his chin to his chest. “I suppose so,” he said quietly. “But when mistakes cost like that…” he sighed again and shook his head. “You’re free to go.” 

“Sure you’re alright?” Merlin checked. “Nothing else I can do for you?” 

“I’m fine, you blustering idiot,” Arthur rolled his eyes. “Now get out.” 

“Yes, sire,” Merlin grinned and hefted the armour into his arms, opening the door with his foot and not closing it even when he heard Arthur shout after him, “And close the door you – urgh!” 

It made him smile, so why not? 

When a fever swept through Camelot, Merlin didn’t fall prey to it, and neither did Gaius. Gwen did, and Morgana insisted she stay in her own chambers so she could treat her herself. Merlin went to visit every day, bringing inquiries from Arthur and tonics from Gaius and flowers from himself. Gwen was unconscious, burning up, but not in too much danger after the fever broke, thanks to Gaius’ expert administrations. 

But Merlin couldn’t help but imagine scenarios then about either him or Arthur catching the illness and coming down with the fever. Arthur would be unconscious, and Merlin would sleep in the antechamber to be close to treat him in the night. He’d press cool cloths to Arthur’s forehead and chest, cradle his head and lift it up to make him drink water and medicine, stroke his hair back from his face and shush him when he made little fever-noises. 

Arthur’s didn’t fall prey to the fever, and neither did Merlin. Merlin was both relieved and disappointed at this, but pushed the imaginings aside firmly. 

His imagination was stubborn and cruel though, and it ambushed him in unlikely places and at inconvenient times. One of the few likely and convenient times it ambushed him was in bed, at the end of the day. When he was sure Gaius was asleep, Merlin would lie on his side and run his hands down his sides, pretending they were Arthur’s. He’d pretend he was in Arthur’s bed, and Arthur was lying opposite him, his hand curled around the back of Merlin’s neck and pulling himself closer. 

His hand would ghost down Merlin’s chest and along his hipbone, teasing down his thigh, brushing the wiry hair between his legs, running two fingers along the length of his cock, so gently. 

It would speed up, and Merlin just squeezed his eyes shut and let his imagination take over as he fisted himself hard and fast, imagining it was Arthur’s hand there, and that Arthur was close, his other hand gripping Merlin’s hair, and Merlin…Merlin would be gasping and then so would Arthur, and his imagination would supply him with a memory of the real Arthur – a flash of skin, the grunts he made as he swung his sword on the practise field, that glorious smell embedded in his pillow – and Merlin would turn his face into the pillow and stay totally silent as he came, all alone. 

The worst was his first morning off. Arthur had found him asleep in front of the fire the night before (he’d been up late helping Gaius categorise all his pills and potions, writing down each name and purpose in a big log book Gaius had just purchased), and told Merlin to take the morning off. Merlin had asked Gaius not to wake him in the morning, and in a moment of charity, the physician had agreed. 

So Merlin got his first proper lie-in since his arrival in Camelot almost a year before. The problem was, he discovered, waking up grudgingly and early meant his imagination didn’t trouble him in the mornings until he was actually awake. Lie-ins, he discovered, meant that his imagination filtered into his dreams, and so he felt himself living a pleasant fantasy that was a half-dreamt, half-imagined thing. 

It was very simple, very low-key – just waking up in Arthur’s bed. The premise was quite simple too – they’d had a first kiss the night before, which had quickly turned into first _other things_ , and Arthur had asked him (with clear blue eyes so earnest in the candle light) to stay, and Merlin had. He woke up with his back pressed up against Arthur’s chest (a helpful rumple in the blankets), and Arthur’s hand tracing patterns on his side. 

“You know,” Arthur’s voice was early-morning scratchy next to his neck, his breath hot on Merlin’s skin, “you should be the one waking me up.” 

Merlin turned his head and looked at Arthur’s grinning face through slitted, bleary eyes. He rolled his tongue around his mouth to lick away the morning staleness and blinked. “Wake up,” he muttered, and turned back over. “There.” He sensed Arthur’s smile and echoed it himself, curling into himself slightly to preserve the warmth of his blanket/Arthur cocoon. 

Arthur hummed amusement and slid the hand dancing on Merlin’s side over his waist completely to slide into Merlin’s hand, curled on the mattress, their fingers entwining. He shifted as he moved, his shoulder coming up and arching over Merlin’s, his other hand touching the back of Merlin’s neck, teasing the soft strands of hair there. And he settled down, heavy and warm, and Merlin smiled contentedly as Arthur pressed his lips to his cheek, and they remained that way for a long, beautiful minute. 

Merlin woke up properly a while later, and opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was his own hands, clasped together on the bed before him, and he felt the full weight of loneliness crush him like a ton of bricks. It wasn’t fair! He felt like wailing. The desperate aching need to be touched, to be held, to be cared for, was all-consuming, and Merlin ripped his hands apart angrily, turning on his stomach and burying his face in his pillow – heavy and stuffed with wool and hay, nothing like Arthur’s soft, plump, silky ones. 

He was such a fool. Such an idiot. He sniffed miserably, and felt tears rise in his throat. He hated his stupid daydreams, his stupid imagination. It was a form of torture, surely, to be able to visualise such beautiful scenarios so perfectly, and then to wake up and know them to be nothing but dreams and dust? He just wanted Arthur so badly. He wanted to play the fantasies out for real. He wanted to know what Arthur’s hands really felt like on his body, what his kisses were like in real life. He wanted Arthur to look him in the eye and say the lovely things he had imagined. Things like, “Don’t go, Merlin.” And, “I need you.” And, “I care about you.” And, “I love you.” 

He wanted Arthur to want him back. He wanted to be pushed into walls and kissed so hard it made his head spin. He wanted to be able to make Arthur gasp and shudder under his fingers. He wanted them to be so familiar they could smile and kiss each other anytime, anywhere. He wanted Arthur to wrap his arms around him and hold him close, and Merlin would be able to lean his head on his shoulder and feel like he was coming home. 

A couple of tears spilled over and soaked into the pillow and Merlin clutched it tight to his face as he gave up on being dignified and cried, feeling small and stupid and pathetic. And totally, totally alone. 

x 

Merlin literally couldn’t look Arthur in the eye later that day. He felt thoroughly ashamed of himself – only teenaged girls cried over stupid things like being in love with someone who didn’t love them back. 

Arthur noticed of course, and raised an eyebrow in that _way_ of his. “What’s the matter, Merlin? If you’ve done something to my armour –” 

“Your armour’s fine, sire,” Merlin told him. “I’ll bring it up later.” 

“Because you didn’t clean it last night like I told you to?” Arthur asked. 

“Because I can’t carry a lunch tray and a pile of armour at the same time,” Merlin said quietly, still avoiding Arthur’s gaze as he went to make the bed. He’d lost count of the times he’d imagined waking up in it, or falling into it with Arthur right behind or in front of him. 

Arthur stayed silent for a long moment, and Merlin didn’t have to look at him to know he was frowning in his direction. “Something’s the matter,” he said finally, firmly. “And you’re going to tell me what.” 

Quite a few of his imaginings had started with a similar premise – Arthur being stubborn and demanding, coaxing the truth out of Merlin. Except that Merlin knew in real life, Arthur would not smile at the revelation of Merlin’s feelings for him, or return them in any way, shape or form. He would be disgusted, freaked out beyond words and potentially furious. He’d probably fire him. And Merlin figured that even though it was masochistic, he’d rather love an oblivious Arthur from close by than yearn from afar with Arthur avoiding him and sending him repulsed looks whenever he caught him at it. 

“Nothing’s the matter,” Merlin said, ignoring the heavy, sick feeling in his belly. The day had started so well with that exquisite half-dream, and now it kept on going downhill. 

“You’re a terrible liar, Merlin.” 

Merlin felt even worse at that. Because his feelings weren’t the only things at stake here – if Arthur found out and sent him away, how would he fulfil his destiny and keep Arthur safe? Not that he’d have to worry about a repulsed Arthur if Arthur found out about his magic instead of his secret affections – he wouldn’t be fired, he’d be beheaded. Or burnt. And Merlin had had nightmares about that, real, horrible nightmares about a witch finder like Aredian discovering his secret and torturing a confession out of him before lashing him to a stake in the centre of the square and lighting a fire at his feet. 

He always woke screaming, flinching away from the searing heat of the flames. 

“I’m not lying about anything,” he lied, refusing to look at Arthur. 

Arthur snorted angrily and stalked over, grabbing Merlin’s arm and pushing so Merlin faced him. Merlin met his eyes at last and fought a thousand small battles to stop himself doing anything totally suicidal, like screaming or kissing him or throwing himself into his arms. “I don’t like being lied to,” Arthur said in a dark voice, “and I’m sure you have a good reason for it, but I expect the truth at some point, Merlin. Sooner, rather than later.” He straightened and let go of Merlin’s arm, his eyes narrowed. “So? Are you going to tell me?” 

Merlin averted his eyes and took a quick, shallow breath. “Tell you what?” 

He looked up through his lashes to see Arthur’s expression darken furiously before he turned away and left the room in silence. And Merlin let out his breath in a long huff and screwed his eyes tight shut to stop himself going completely berserk and ripping the sheet in his hands apart. They were thin sheets – he knew he was fully capable of doing so. 

He needed to get out of there. He left the bed half-made, the sheet mercifully un-ripped, and made for outside, past the practise field to the edges of the forest. He slunk past Arthur and his men, who were training with crossbows and targets, trying not to be seen. He believed he was successful as he came to the edge of the trees and slid in, walking and walking and walking until the undergrowth had thinned out slightly and he could lean against a tree. He didn’t trust himself to scream his frustration out here – he’d have to be further away to be dead certain no one would hear him. 

He wished he could scream. Just let it all out in a roar of pain and anger and hopelessness. He’d done something similar in one of his imaginings – he’d pretended an inanimate object was Arthur and told it everything. And Arthur had been behind him, and heard him, and when Merlin turned around and jumped in horror, Arthur had pulled him close and told him he was forgiven, and that he felt the same way. 

But because Merlin was living in the real world, no one was standing behind him. Arthur was back at the training field with his knights, holding a crossbow and not even thinking about Merlin. Because what was Merlin, after all, but a servant? Nothing more than that. Never anything more. 

x 

Arthur was there when Merlin returned to his chambers, carrying his newly-polished armour. “I see you managed to bring it all up this time, Merlin. Well done.” 

“Thank you, sire.” Merlin didn’t look at him as he dumped the metal on the table, knocking a fork off in the process. He sighed and bent to pick it up, setting it on the empty plate left over from lunch time.

“You didn’t finish clearing up in here,” Arthur said slowly, “and then you disappeared into the woods. Don’t think I didn’t notice. I don’t think I’m going to give you another morning off – you got even less done today than usual.” 

“Sorry, sire,” Merlin muttered, stacking the plates, cups, jar and tureen on the tray and then going to the bed to finish where he had left it that morning. 

“I’ve come to the conclusion,” Arthur said loudly, his chair creaking as he shifted in it. “That you are keeping a secret.” 

“What makes you say that?” Merlin asked distractedly, curling his toes in his boots. 

“Your general demeanour,” Arthur said, and the hairs on the back of Merlin’s neck prickled under the prince’s scrutiny. “You’re clearly hiding something, and it must be something important for you to have hidden it from me this long, and with such determination.” 

Merlin had no answer for that, so he ducked his head and kept on plumping the pillows. 

Arthur made a satisfied sound. “I knew it. I knew I was right.” Merlin said nothing, and the chair creaked again as Arthur leaned forward. “Have you nothing to say for yourself, Merlin?” 

Merlin shook his head and finished folding the sheets. He went to pass Arthur to build up the fire for the night, but Arthur lashed out quickly and grabbed his arm. “Perhaps you can tell me what you’re hiding then.” 

Merlin shook his head and pulled his arm from Arthur’s hand. “I can’t.” 

“Why not?” Arthur sounded torn between amusement and frustration. “Come on – is it a woman?” 

Merlin rolled his eyes and knelt by the fire. “No.” 

“Hm,” Arthur thought for a moment and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “Is it Gaius, then? Or your mother?” 

“No,” Merlin shook his head. “Please, Arthur, just leave it.” 

He felt the frustration peak and heard Arthur get up and come to stand in front of the fire, right next to him as he used the poker to manoeuvre another log into the flames. “I’m not going to leave it,” he said determinedly. “Come on, Merlin. Whatever it is can’t be that bad.” 

Merlin felt like snorting and telling Arthur he had no idea, but that would be revealing too much. And after a simple smoke-shaping spell had managed to almost kill Gaius, himself and possibly even Morgana, he wasn’t taking any more unnecessary risks. So he said nothing. 

“Why can’t you tell me?” Arthur asked him angrily. 

“I can’t tell anyone,” Merlin said without thinking, and immediately wished he hadn’t spoken. 

“Why?” Arthur sounded baffled, and rightly so – to his mind, there was nothing Merlin could possibly need to hide so badly. 

“I just…” Merlin shook his head and turned his back on Arthur as he stood. “I just can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t tell a living soul.” 

Arthur didn’t speak as Merlin blew out the candles around the room until only the two on the table were left. He had to face Arthur to blow them out, but he didn’t look at him – just kept his eyes lowered as he huffed twice, leaving the wicks smoking, weaving a semi-transparent veil of secrets and lies and deceit between them. 

Arthur spoke just as Merlin opened the door. “Merlin?” 

Merlin paused, not turning to look. “Yes?” 

“Tell something then,” Arthur sighed, and Merlin looked over his shoulder at his prince. “Trust me when I say there are few things worse than letting things bottle up. Tell a cat from the kitchens or something. Tell a tree in the forest you love so much. They’re not really living souls, so they don’t count.” 

Merlin stared at him, meeting his eyes properly. In the flickering firelight, they looked orangey-black, not blue. He nodded once. “I’ll think about it,” he said, and left, closing the door softly behind him. 

His imagination hounded him all the way to bed, past Gaius’ sleeping form, up the stairs and through the door into his room. With a premise like that, how could it not? And to get some piece of mind, and some sleep, Merlin indulged it. 

His mind weaved a picture of him going into the forest and confessing everything to a tree, only to find out Arthur was standing behind it. Arthur shouted, was angry, was hurt and betrayed and turned away, sunlight dappling through the leaves and casting his hair in gold, shining and soft. And Merlin was brave, stepped forward, reached out and touched the back of Arthur’s wrist and said, “I’m sorry,” he was heartbroken and miserable, and turned to leave, to go into the woods and disappear forever, damn destiny and the stupid dragon. 

But just as he turned to go, Arthur grabbed his hand and glared at him and asked if Merlin had known he was there. “Of course not,” Merlin replied, just as frustrated. And Arthur’s eyes flicked down to Merlin’s lips and Merlin’s heart near stopped for hope. 

“You meant it then?” Arthur asked in a quiet, uncharacteristically hesitant voice. And when Merlin nodded, he stepped closer till they were face to face, and Arthur’s hand relaxed around Merlin’s, and his other hand moved to touch the corner of Merlin’s eye tentatively. “So if I were to, say,” he leaned closer, lips open, and Merlin copied him, his eyelids drooping and his pulse hammering so hard. “Kiss you?” he whispered, scant millimetres away from Merlin’s lips. 

“I’d be okay with that,” Merlin whispered back, and closed the distance, fitting their lips together. And of course they fitted – like they were made for each other, and of course they were, because what else could the dragon mean? Merlin wanted more than friendship with Arthur. More than destiny. 

He still woke up the next morning alone, and he hugged his chest tight, wishing Arthur would hug him instead. 

x 

When some witch poisoned the entire population of Camelot with something in the water, it was possibly the worst, most destructive thing to ever happen. Because it wasn’t a killing poison, or a poison that made people sick. It was far, far worse – the poison was spelled so that everyone who has ingested it couldn’t tell lies. And for someone like Merlin, whose entire life in Camelot was built on a web of lies and secrets, the poison had the potential to ruin everything. 

It was clever, he mused as he took Arthur’s breakfast up to his room. All the witch had to do was activate the spell and sit back as the populace tore itself apart. Any wife who had ever suspected her husband wasn’t entirely faithful needed only to ask and force an answer. No card or dice games worked, because the players couldn’t bluff. And the king couldn’t lie to his people, his lords, or his family, which was the real winner. 

Gaius was working hard to find a cure, and meanwhile, the people of Camelot either retreated into their homes and barricaded the doors, or had it out with anyone they wanted. The lords and ladies had mostly retreated to their respective chambers – court hadn’t been held in three days, and everyone was wary of asking anyone a question, or being asked. No one more than Merlin, who was spending most of his time hiding in Gaius’ chambers in case someone asked him a question he couldn’t wriggle away from. 

But truth poison or not, his domestic duties still continued, which was why he was taking breakfast to Arthur. He didn’t knock before opening the door, and set the tray on the table. Arthur was watching the courtyard pensively. Luckily for everyone else, he could still train with his knights, since he was always honest with them anyway, so he didn’t have a total build-up of energy. 

“How’s Gaius’ cure coming along?” he asked without moving. 

Merlin sighed. “I’m not sure. I don’t know if it’s going well or not.”

Arthur turned to him thoughtfully. “I want to try something out, Merlin.” 

“Oh?” Merlin said nervously. 

“Mm. Tell me that the cure will be done by tonight.” 

Merlin opened his mouth and spoke, “The cure will be done by –” and then choked, unable to form the last word. Arthur nodded, satisfied. 

“Excellent.” 

Merlin coughed and raised his eyebrows, confused. “How is that excellent?” 

“We can use this to almost foretell the future,” Arthur said excitedly. 

“You sure your father would be happy about that?” Merlin asked cautiously. 

Arthur shrugged. “Probably not. But he doesn’t have to know. Now let’s try something more difficult – tell me King Odin will die in the next ten years.” 

“King Odin will die in the next ten years,” Merlin parroted obediently, and promptly felt ill. “That’s horrible. I don’t want to know things like that.” 

Arthur nodded thoughtfully. “But what if I said, King Odin won’t die in the next ten years?” 

Merlin stared. “I don’t understand.” 

“I do,” Arthur smiled. “It must be subject to whatever happens over the next ten years. It could swing either way – the future isn’t fixed.” 

“Some things in the future are fixed,” Merlin argued, and then looked at Arthur in surprise. “I could say that, so it must be true.” 

Arthur nodded slowly. “This is a powerful thing, whatever that witch did,” he murmured. “The things that can be done while this potion is in action…one of the first things my father did was order everyone in the prison cells to be interrogated again.” 

“I know,” Merlin nodded, feeling slightly sick. There had been five releases, but seven executions because of that. “It makes interrogating people really easy.” 

“Which can only be a good thing,” Arthur said, and smiled. “Wrongly accused people could go free, witnesses could be taken at their word, the guilty wouldn’t be able to lie their way out of it. I think Gaius should keep whatever was in the water for future use.” 

“I don’t,” Merlin shook his head. “Some secrets cause more harm than help.” 

“Ah,” Arthur smiled crookedly, his eyes narrow. “Scared I’ll use this to get your secret out of you?” 

Merlin’s look of wide-eyed fear was answer enough, and Arthur sighed. “Don’t worry, Merlin. I won’t ask.” 

Merlin let out a breath and nodded. “Thank you, sire,” he said sincerely. “Really.” 

“Don’t,” Arthur shook his head and frowned. “I thought about it, you know. I seriously considered it. I can’t help it, Merlin,” he smirked sardonically. “You’ve got me curious.” 

“But you won’t ask?” Merlin asked, worried, and then relieved when Arthur shook his head, then scowled. 

“I don’t like that you have secrets from me, Merlin,” he said, looking up again. “I thought you trusted me.” 

“I do trust you,” Merlin protested, “and I don’t like having secrets from you either.” 

“Then tell me,” Arthur stepped closer, a light in his eyes. “Come on.” 

“I can’t,” Merlin shook his head, panicked. “You said you wouldn’t ask, Arthur.” 

“I meant it at the time,” Arthur told him. “I’ve found that out too – the truth is sometimes only what you believe. Come on, Merlin. Whatever it is can’t be that bad.” 

Merlin just shook his head, scared to open his mouth in case he somehow incriminated himself. He turned to go, but Arthur grabbed his arm and held him fast. “Tell me, Merlin.” 

“No,” Merlin pulled away, but Arthur grabbed him again, harder, and Merlin couldn’t pull free, so he swung his other fist to maybe hit Arthur, but of course Arthur caught it and held it tight. 

“Is it that bad?” Arthur asked, sounding honestly curious and Merlin’s stomach lurched in fear. None of his scenarios had ever played out like this. “Come on, Merlin, what’s the worst it could be? Have you killed someone?” he laughed, and then stilled as Merlin didn’t speak. “You’re not serious. Oh, wait,” he frowned. “Those bandits in Ealdor. I suppose you have killed someone.” 

Merlin breathed a sigh of relief and tried to pull away again, but Arthur’s fists only tightened their grip. “Have you killed someone besides the bandits?” he asked, having caught Merlin’s relief. At Merlin’s lack of response, his expression stilled. “You have, haven’t you? Who, Merlin?” 

“I…” Merlin shook his head, racking his brain for someone he’d killed who he hadn’t killed with magic or for some magic-related reason. “I…” 

“Who?” Arthur asked, low and calm. 

“Edwin!” Merlin shouted desperately. “I killed Edwin! With an axe, okay? Now let me go!” he pulled away and lurched for the door. 

“Wait!” Arthur called, and Merlin halted like the idiot he was. “Edwin? That’s your secret?” 

Merlin looked over his shoulder, and Arthur narrowed his eyes. “Is that your secret?” 

Slowly, Merlin shook his head. “Please,” he said in a low voice, surprisingly clear. “Don’t do this. Just let it go. I will tell you, I swear it, but please don’t make me tell you now.” 

“Why not?” Arthur huffed with frustration, stepping forward. “Are you afraid of me? Of what I’ll do?” 

“Yes,” Merlin whispered. 

Arthur scowled. “If I swear not to do anything like…I don’t know…lose my temper, will you tell me?” 

“Arthur,” Merlin turned to face him properly and shook his head, but Arthur persisted. 

“What’s the worst that could happen, Merlin? I could arrest you? I swear I won’t.” 

“That’s only what you believe right now,” Merlin shook his head. “I can’t, Arthur.” 

“You can,” Arthur insisted, and since when had he given such a damn about Merlin’s secrets? 

Since he had a chance of finding out, Merlin’s brain supplied helpfully, and he shook his head. 

“No, Arthur, please,” 

“I won’t lose my temper," Arthur stepped closer. “I won’t change my mind – see? That must be true.” 

“Only what you believe,” Merlin stared at the floor and backed away, feeling hemmed in and trapped. 

“I swear it,” Arthur persisted. “Come on, Merlin, just tell me!” 

“I can’t!” Merlin shouted, surprising Arthur, who took a half-step back. Merlin spun and wrenched open the door, fleeing down the corridor. Could that have gone any worse? 

Well yes – he could have told Arthur the truth (and by now he wasn’t even sure if he meant about his magic or his feelings for the prince) and Arthur could have gone off down the path of imprisonment and execution, which wouldn’t be fun at all. 

He found himself running outside and across the drawbridge and around the wall, towards the forest. He was out of breath by now, but he didn’t stop till he couldn’t breathe, and he wasn’t sure how he was going to find his way back, but he didn’t care. He figured that this time he was far enough away from the castle, and most people were inside anyway because the clouds threatened rain, so he lashed out and punched a tree and _screamed_. 

It felt good, so he did it again, and then once more, petering off into a frustrated cry as he kicked the tree. His throat hurt, but he did feel slightly better. And then he heard the distant shout of, “Merlin!” accompanied by crashing branches and swishing undergrowth. 

Arthur had followed him. And that was kind of like his imaginings but so much _worse_ because the premise was all wrong, and damn it, this time it was _real_. And it wouldn’t end in kisses and general loveliness – it would end with a furious Arthur, and a Merlin bound for the axe. 

He couldn’t run – Arthur was faster, and besides, Merlin had no hope of sneaking back around undetected. Arthur was the greatest hunter the kingdom had ever seen – he would find Merlin easily. 

Merlin panicked and looked up at the tree branch too far above his head. If he could only grab it… 

He stretched out his hand and felt the power burn behind his eyes. “ _Byge abegdan!_ ” the branch cracked as it lowered itself enough for Merlin to grab on and hold tight as it moved up again. Once up, he inched backwards towards the trunk and climbed higher, hiding himself in the foliage. He was sure Arthur wouldn’t be able to find him up there. 

Mere seconds later, the blonde prince stumbled into the clearing and halted, bending over and panting heavily. “Merlin?” he bellowed again as he straightened. “Merlin!” 

Merlin didn’t move, just watched Arthur from above. And Arthur huffed and coughed quietly into his hand. “Idiot,” he muttered. “He’ll only get lost. You just _had_ to go and push, didn’t you?” h sighed and slumped against Merlin’s tree. “I’m sorry!” he shouted into the wilderness, and Merlin closed his eyes. 

“So am I,” he whispered almost soundlessly. 

Arthur sighed again, and the two of them stayed like that for long minutes till Arthur stood up and snarled angrily, slamming the tree with his fist. “Damn it!” he shouted. “Damn it all! Damn the poison, and truth, and stupid, stupid, bloody Merlin!” he hit the tree harder with every word, and at the last, pulled out a dagger and slammed it into the trunk. Merlin jerked as if Arthur had plunged the blade into his own stomach, and maybe that was what Arthur was imagining. That thought hurt Merlin’s chest, and he pressed his face to the rough bark beneath him and closed his eyes. 

He listened as Arthur pulled the knife from the tree and started scratching something into it. After a while, he stopped and the knife hit the tree again with an angry thud, and again, and several more times before Arthur finally kicked the tree one last time, sheathed the knife, and walked away. 

Merlin counted to two hundred before he lowered himself slowly through the branches to the one he had bent magically, and made it lower him to the forest floor again. He turned as soon as he was on the ground, and looked at the trunk of the tree. The bark had been hacked off, and the softer flesh beneath was criss-crossed with scars that didn’t quite conceal the shape of a heart. 

Merlin’s eyes widened and he stepped closer, his fingers tracing the lines. A heart, and a letter in the centre. It was difficult to make out, but Merlin stopped breathing when he realised it was an M. 

x 

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said as soon as Merlin opened the door to his chambers that evening. “I was an idiot, and I’m sorry. I won’t ask anymore, I promise.” 

Merlin nodded once, and opened his mouth to ask the question he’d been thinking on since he’d traced the letter M in the tree, but couldn’t quite get the words out. Arthur noticed and frowned. “What is it?” 

“I…” Merlin bit his lip, and then decided to plunge ahead. “I found something on a tree on my way back.” 

Arthur swallowed – was he _nervous_? – and nodded. “Oh?” 

Emboldened slightly, Merlin nodded. “Scratches. Like from a knife. Recent, too – the tree was still bleeding. There was…was it you?” he asked, unable to take it. 

Arthur didn’t answer for a moment, and then nodded. 

“And did you…” Merlin looked at his feet, and then up again, not sure how to phrase his question. “Was it an M?” another nod. Merlin swallowed, his throat dry. “What…” he took a deep breath. “What does it stand for?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Arthur turned away. “I don’t…never mind.” 

Merlin pursed his lips and frowned. “Tell me?” 

Arthur snorted suddenly and turned to face him, a challenge in his eyes. “Only if you tell me your secret.” 

Merlin sighed, defeated. “Arthur…” 

“There. See? Now drop it. Go to bed, Merlin,” Arthur turned away again and Merlin warred with himself furiously. His imagination was silent for once, and he gulped nervously, taking the plunge. 

“The thing is, Arthur,” he said hesitantly. “Your secret…mine could get me killed. It almost has. One of them, anyway. Look, I’m not saying…well, I am, but…oh, dammit.” He scowled and went to put more logs on the fire. 

“Eloquent,” Arthur remarked sarcastically, turning to watch. “Well that was a mess.” 

“Shut up,” Merlin rolled his eyes. “Hypothetically speaking, what’s the worst secret I could be keeping?” 

“You could be a traitor to the crown,” Arthur shrugged, coming to sit in his chair. “Or…I don’t know…a sorcerer, or a murderer. Maybe a rapist? But seriously, Merlin,” he snorted, “you’re none of them. Killing Edwin…it doesn’t count, okay? It’s not murder.” 

“I know,” Merlin said quietly. “But that’s not the secret.” The fire was hot on his face, and he could feel a pounding headache starting up at the top of his skull. 

Arthur sucked in a deep breath through his nose. “Hypothetically speaking?” he asked after a moment, and huffed. “Okay, well if you want to play guessing games…is your secret a crime?” 

“Yes,” Merlin put a log on the fire and nudged it into place with the poker, turning his burning face away. “One of them.” 

“A crime you’ve committed, or an ongoing one?” 

“Both.” 

Arthur paused to absorb that, and Merlin heard him grip the arms of his chair tighter. He was suicidal, clearly. He couldn’t believe he was doing this. But Arthur had to find out (about his magic, at least) one day, right? “Is it a serious crime?” 

“Yes.” 

“Was it…was it one of the ones I mentioned?” 

“Yes.” Merlin’s voice kept getting smaller and smaller. He felt dizzy with fear, but he couldn’t stop now. 

“Was it being a traitor to the crown?” Arthur’s voice was tight, but it relaxed slightly when Merlin said, “No.” “Okay,” Arthur went on. “Are you a sorcerer?” Merlin didn’t answer, and he felt Arthur hone in on the back of his neck like a hawk. “Come on, Merlin,” he laughed weakly. “ _Are_ you a sorcerer?” 

“I’m going to die.” Merlin realised in a flash of terror, his voice high and bleak, and then his head pitched and everything turned black. 

x 

When he woke, he was lying on the floor in front of the fire, and his head wasn’t pounding so hard. Arthur was sitting at his side, staring down at him. “You fainted,” he said flatly. “You actually fainted. Like a total _girl_ , Merlin.” 

Merlin couldn’t answer – he was too busy trying to catch up with what he’d said. “Am I going to die?” he asked stupidly, realising that his fate was in Arthur’s hands now. 

“We all die one day, Merlin,” Arthur said, not answering his question properly. 

Merlin struggled into a sitting position and let out a shaky breath. “Am I going to die very soon?” he asked, looking into the fire. Nightmares were one thing, he thought distantly,  but the reality of being burned at the stake was something entirely different. The smoke would choke him, he supposed. His clothing would burn first, and his skin with that. He’d scream, he knew – he wouldn’t be able to help it. 

“You think I’ll have you burned,” Arthur guessed, following Merlin’s gaze into the flames. 

“Won’t you?” Merlin asked in a small voice. “I’m a sorcerer.” 

“No,” Arthur shook his head. “No, no you’re not," he sounded slightly panicked, grasping at straws. “You…you’re lying.” 

“I can’t lie,” Merlin said tiredly. “None of us can.” 

“It must have worn off then,” Arthur said harshly. “My name is…” his mouth wouldn’t say the words and he sucked in a deep breath then. “Just you then,” he said. “Go on, say your name is…Morgana, or something.” 

“I can’t, Arthur.” 

“Say it!” Arthur pressed, and Merlin gave in. 

“My name is M–” he choked and sighed. “I can’t. I can’t lie.” 

“Clearly you can,” Arthur hissed. “If you can say you’re a sorcerer.” 

“I’m sorry,” Merlin met his eyes wretchedly. “I’m so, so sorry, Arthur, I am. Look, Arthur, listen to me – I’ll leave, okay?” his heart protested painfully, but he forged on. “I’ll leave, and I’ll never, ever come back. I’ll leave Camelot if you ask me to.” 

Arthur looked at him sharply, and Merlin swallowed, hating all his imaginings for building up his expectations. “You’d do that?” 

“Of course,” Merlin nodded, blinking sharply. “I will, if you tell me. I’ll go, and you won’t ever have to see me again.” 

“You’d leave Gaius, and Gwen,” Arthur clarified. “And all the other people you know here?” 

“Yes,” Merlin whispered, unable to meet his eyes. 

“I don’t understand," Arthur said slowly. “Do you want to leave?” 

“No!” Merlin protested, looking up. “Of course not. Camelot…Camelot is my home.” 

“And you’d still leave – forever – if I asked you to?” 

“Yes,” Merlin said quietly, bowing his head. 

“Why?” Arthur asked, and Merlin dared not think about how he didn’t exactly sound _angry_. 

“Because…because I…” he trailed off and sighed. “That’s the second secret,” he admitted finally. 

“Tell me,” Arthur ordered. “Nothing can be worse than that first one,” his voice was harsh, and Merlin winced. 

“You’ll hate me. You’ll think I’m a freak. A disgusting freak.” 

“Merlin,” Arthur said heavily. “I carved your initial in a _heart_ on a bloody _tree_. What does that tell you?” 

Merlin looked up through his lashes, and Arthur looked back at him tiredly. “I…” he said, stunned. He couldn’t quite register anything beyond, _my_ initial. He carved _my_ initial in a _heart_. On a tree. _My initial_. “My initial?” he said stupidly, wincing at how hopeful he sounded. 

“Yes, you dolt,” Arthur sighed and got to his feet, walking away. “Your stupid initial. Now who’s the freak?”

“I…” Merlin blinked a few times, and then scrambled to his feet. “My initial?” he asked again, quieter, and Arthur sighed and Merlin saw him roll his eyes in his reflection in the window. 

“Your initial,” he repeated in a low voice. “Your initial, Merlin.” 

“Oh,” Merlin sat down suddenly on the arm of Arthur’s chair. “Does that mean you won’t tell your father about me?” he asked. 

Arthur leaned his forehead against the wall and sighed. “How can you be a sorcerer?” he asked despairingly. “I knew you were hiding something, but…” 

“I’m sorry,” Merlin got to his feet and moved around to look Arthur in the eye. “I really am. I couldn’t tell you. I’m sorry. I just…” he blinked and looked down with a swallow. “I don’t want to die,” he admitted. “I don’t want to be burned. When Aredian was here… 

“He got it right.” Arthur laughed bitterly. “Oh, that’s rich. You were his first suspect.” 

“It was me,” Merlin said in a hollow voice. “I conjured the horse in the smoke. It wasn’t…I didn’t mean for any of that to happen. It was just a bit of fun.” 

“And then Aredian was summoned,” Arthur looked at Merlin, his eyes not quite narrow enough to be a glare, but still far from friendly, and Merlin nodded. 

“And Gaius…I was scared,” he said honestly. “Do you know what that’s like, Arthur?” he asked, almost pleading. “To be hunted and cornered like that? He was going to move onto me after Gaius, Gaius told me. And then Morgana. He would have gotten both of us, you know that? It wouldn’t have mattered either way whether we had magic or not. He would have tortured confessions out of us, and burned us. And maybe more people after that. It’s not my fault I was born like this.” 

“You were born like what?” Arthur frowned. “With magic?” 

“Yes,” Merlin nodded. “I know it’s not…normal, but it’s true. Well, obviously,” he sighed. “I’ve always been able to do magic. Since before I could walk or talk, my mother said. And it’s not my fault.” 

“Why are you here?” Arthur asked him. “In Camelot, where all magic is banned on pain of death? Are you that stupid? Or just crazy?” 

“To protect you,” Merlin said quietly, almost whispering. “To keep you safe. That’s what my magic is for. To make sure nothing happens to you, so you can be king one day.” 

“Why?” Arthur asked, confused. “Why do you even care?” 

“Because…” Merlin cursed himself for being such a coward, and then looked up at Arthur cunningly. “I’ll tell you if you tell me why you carved my initial in the tree.” 

Arthur growled and slammed his fist into the wall, pressing his face close. “Isn’t it obvious?” he asked angrily through thin lips and gritted teeth. “Just answer the question.” 

“I think they both have the same answer,” Merlin said, and turned away, looking out of the window. Neither of them spoke for a long, long time. “Do you want me to leave Camelot?” Merlin asked finally in a small voice. 

“No,” Arthur said shortly. “How do you know they both have the same answer?” 

“I guess I don’t,” Merlin said sadly. “One of us will have to answer to find out.” 

“I preferred the guessing games,” Arthur muttered, and then smirked. “Alright – Merlin, do you care because I’m the prince?” 

“No,” Merlin shook his head, and Arthur pulled his shoulder so the skinnier boy had to face him. 

“Do you care because you want something from me?” 

“No,” Merlin held Arthur’s gaze as he shook his head slightly.

Arthur took a deep breath. “Do you care because you’re in love with me?” 

Merlin opened his mouth and nodded. “Yes,” he whispered. 

Arthur inhaled slowly through his nose and didn’t move. Merlin blinked and swallowed. “So?” he asked finally, tremulously. “Are the answers the same?” 

“Yes,” Arthur’s voice was a deep rumble, and as the answer sank in, Merlin became acutely aware of everything. Arthur’s face, not a foot from his, their bodies so close, Arthur’s hands twitching at his sides, the heat from their bodies and the fire mingling till Merlin was sure he was beginning to sweat. 

“You…” Merlin started and stopped as Arthur seemed to sway momentarily closer. “You’re…” 

“In love with you,” Arthur looked down as he said it, and Merlin let out a gasping breath. 

“Is this real?” he asked in an embarrassingly high voice. 

“I hope so,” Arthur snorted. “Because this will have been a spectacular waste of time if it isn’t.” 

Merlin pinched his arm, just in case. It stung, and he broke into a sudden grin, wide enough to split his face in two. “This is really happening?” 

“Nothing’s happened yet,” Arthur said, stepping slightly closer. Merlin closed his eyes and inhaled. He could smell Arthur in the air around him. He could feel his body mere inches from his own. 

“It could though,” Merlin said, slightly short of breath. Real, he thought giddily. Real, real, really, really, _real_. This was _really_ happening. It was better than the best of his daydreams – his imagination couldn’t supply the tiny details like the exact shape of Arthur’s eyes or the pores in his skin or the way such close proximity actually felt. “I want…” he began, and trailed off. 

“Tell me,” Arthur ordered him. “Tell me what you want.” 

“I’ve wanted this for ages,” Merlin whispered. “Imagined it.” 

“Tell me,” Arthur said, sounding almost eager, and how could Merlin do anything but comply? 

“I want to kiss you,” he whispered. “I want my hands in your hair and I want your hands…oh, everywhere. And I want you to push me into a wall and I want to push you down on your bed and kiss your neck and your ears and your hair and your chest and just…I want to touch you. Everywhere. And I want you to hold me and tell me things and I want to never lie to you again,” he drew in a breath to say more, but Arthur darted forward and slipped his lips over Merlin’s. 

Arthur’s lips were dry and they felt kind of chapped on the insides. Merlin realised that Arthur must bite his lips quite a lot. They moved slightly, and Merlin opened his mouth a little and pressed closer, and when Arthur pulled away, Merlin followed, gasping slightly and opening his eyes only a little bit. They’d kissed. Arthur had kissed him. And it was different from how he’d imagined it – it was better. Warmer and realer and oh, _gods_. Merlin leaned forward and kissed Arthur back, opening his mouth and closing his eyes and pushing forward eagerly. 

Arthur made a small sound that made his lips hum for a second, and Merlin smiled as he was kissed back, Arthur’s tongue sweeping over his bottom lip from corner to middle and just touching Merlin’s. And wow. Merlin sought that touch again, so different from anything else his tongue had ever touched before, and Arthur let him find it, taste it and rub it over his teeth. He sucked Merlin’s bottom lip forward between his own, and Merlin made a soft, high sound and sighed through his nose before pulling away to breathe properly. 

Arthur moved forward an inch so their foreheads were touching – convenient how they were both more or less the same height. He ran his tongue between his lips and tasted Merlin, whose lips were wet and pink and swollen. He laughed suddenly and put his hands on Merlin’s shoulders, pushing him back and back until Merlin’s spine thudded into the wall. “Pushing you into a wall,” he said huskily (and there was another thing Merlin’s imagination hadn’t been able to properly conjure – Arthur’s voice, all deep and rumbly like that, making him shiver with need). “Check. What were the others?” 

Merlin couldn’t answer. He just laughed breathlessly and reached his hands around the back of Arthur’s shoulders to tangle in his hair, stroking and carding and mussing it gently. 

“Oh yes,” Arthur grinned, pressing his face close. “Hair. Check. And my hands…what was it?” 

“Everywhere,” Merlin said, whispering it like a promise, and Arthur leaned forward to kiss him again, his hands duly scudding down Merlin’s sides, his thumbs finding the edges of Merlin’s shirt and rubbing it up slightly, showing a thin line of pale skin. 

Merlin’s head hit the stone behind him as Arthur pulled back and ducked down suddenly, kissing the skin he had exposed, his thumbs rubbing warm circles in front of Merlin’s hips. “Mind if I…replace hands…with lips?” he asked between kisses, and Merlin let out a breathy sigh, shaking his head. 

“No…oh, _gods_ no,” his eyes rolled back in his head and he felt his knees tremble as Arthur rose to his height again. “Why stop?” he asked breathily, and Arthur kissed his chin. He’d never done that in Merlin’s imaginings, and Merlin decided that he loved that. 

“I remembered more of the list,” Arthur told him in a low voice. “Specifically one involving my bed.” 

Merlin smiled, bright and wide and tremendously happy. “Okay,” he nodded, placing his hands over Arthur’s shoulders and pushing him back and away, towards the bed. “Come on then.” He knew Arthur could overpower him easily without so much as blinking, which made the fact that Arthur was _letting_ him push him around unbelievably amazing. Arthur’s eyes were shining and eager, and he was smiling, the corners of his lips upturned. Merlin dropped a quick kiss to one corner and smiled wider, pushing Arthur back onto the bed. 

Arthur pulled himself into the centre without any prompting, and Merlin climbed after him, putting his hands on his shoulders again and pushing him down and back, following him desperately, kissing him harder than before, pushing down with his chest on Arthur’s. And big, strong arms around him, pulling him further onto Arthur’s body and holding him close, and Merlin hummed with content, one of his hands stroking the hair back from Arthur’s temple, the other curled around his shoulder, holding him just as close. Their legs shifted, tangled, and their hips aligned perfectly, and Merlin opened his eyes just in time to see Arthur’s roll back in his head. 

Curious, he shifted his hips slightly, and Arthur’s mouth opened in a silent gasp. Merlin kissed his jawline and under his ear and did it again, firmer. Arthur’s arms tightened around Merlin’s shoulders and back, and Merlin raised his head again to kiss Arthur, showing his appreciation. 

They were both hard, he could feel it, and it felt incredible. Better than anything he’d been able to imagine. He ground his hips down again, and bit his lip as Arthur pushed upwards to meet him. The friction was just…Merlin let out a huff of air and pressed his lips to the underside of Arthur’s jaw, taking advantage of the way Arthur had thrown his head back into the pillow and sucking a wet kiss there. Arthur squeezed his arms around Merlin and his hips stuttered upwards again. Merlin hooked his feet around Arthur’s to keep himself firmly anchored as he pushed back, harder. 

“Oh,” Arthur said, and Merlin could feel his uneven heartbeat pulsing in his groin as he let out a breathy moan and crushed his hips down again, and again, striving to make Arthur make that sound again. Fourth time he rubbed a little before pulling away, and Arthur’s chest heaved under Merlin’s. “Oh,” he gasped. “Oh, ohhhh, oh god, Mer – ngh! Oh, oh, _oh_.” 

Merlin fastened his lips over Arthur to absorb the noises, feeling them vibrate in his mouth and setting their pace, faster, harder and more urgent. They lost the rhythm towards the end, just shoving up and down as hard as possible, noises created and lost and breathed in through each other’s mouths. Merlin came first, crying out properly and digging his nails into Arthur’s shoulders as he arched up as much as he could with Arthur’s arms holding him tight and close. The pressure must have set Arthur off, because he followed on with a guttural gasp, his whole body taut and tight and rocking against Merlin’s. 

Spent, Merlin flopped limp and lazy across Arthur’s front, burying his face in the crook of Arthur’s golden neck and breathing heavily. Arthur was breathing just as fast, and Merlin nearly melted as the prince pressed a kiss to his hair. 

“As good as you imagined?” Arthur said, his voice raspy, and Merlin smiled, turning his head and kissing Arthur’s neck, just under the place where his jaw ended. 

“Better,” he whispered, and kissed Arthur again, pulling himself up to press his lips gently, almost chastely against Arthur’s. “So, so much better. Which is funny, because we still have all our clothes on.” 

Arthur laughed, his chest moving under Merlin’s, and Merlin grinned wide and easy back at him, closing his eyes contentedly as Arthur kissed him. 

x 

Five days later, after Gaius had discovered the cure and administered it to everyone in Camelot, and after several Very Serious Conversations about magic between Arthur and Merlin, the pair lay on Arthur’s bed, staring up at the canopy. 

“This isn’t going to be easy,” Arthur warned Merlin. “We have to act like nothing’s happened. I’m still going to lump stupid chores on you, and call you an idiot, and be generally mean to you in front of everyone else.” 

“I know,” Merlin said softly. “I don’t mind.” 

“You don’t now,” Arthur said, “but what about later? What about in a year’s time? Merlin, terrible things have happened between couples who keep their relationships a secret.” 

“Like what?” Merlin asked curiously, turning his head to face Arthur. Arthur sighed and rolled onto his side, grabbing Merlin’s shoulder and tugging him until his head was resting on Arthur’s chest. 

“Like…” he sighed, the warmth ruffling Merlin’s hair. “Like Lady Bronwyn and her footman. They had to keep their affair a secret because she was married, and he was only a footman. And everything was fine for a while, but the footman got jealous of her husband because he was the one Bronwyn went back to every night. Because they had to sneak moments in empty rooms and in the stables, and it wasn’t enough.” 

“How do you know all that then?” Merlin asked. 

“Because the footman and the lady were caught,” Arthur said quietly. “By the lady’s husband. I was…ten? Eleven? No older than twelve. The commotion drew the whole court – the three of them screaming at each other in the stairwell.” 

“What happened?” Merlin wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer, but it was too late now. 

“The lady’s husband held the power,” Merlin felt Arthur shrug one shoulder, “and he ordered both of them killed. Hanged.” 

“That’s horrible,” Merlin whispered. 

“Worse things have happened,” Arthur said honestly. “I was too young to understand it at the time. The point is, Merlin, we have to be careful. No one can ever know.” 

“I know that,” Merlin rolled his eyes. “I’m hardly going to announce it in the square, am I?” 

“I should hope not,” Arthur sounded cross, but Merlin could hear the smile in his voice, and he turned to kiss him, smiling when he was done and rolling onto his side, pulling Arthur’s arm over his shoulders to hold him down, warm and heavy. Arthur hummed and pulled himself closer, chest against Merlin’s back. He rested his head on his other hand and looked down at Merlin. “When I’m king, you’ll be court sorcerer. And you can set out the laws on magic.” 

“You’ll lift the ban then?” Merlin turned his face to look up at him with a grin. His cheekbones held dark shadows beneath them, and Arthur smiled too, the corner of his lips turning up. 

“Yes. And forge allegiances with the other kingdoms to unite us all, and keep everyone safe. The Druids can come out of hiding – Morgana can learn more from them (the Very Serious Conversations had included what Merlin knew of Morgana’s powers, and Arthur was pressing him to reveal what he knew to her, because Morgana hated people who kept secrets from her), and you can put on light shows for special occasions.” 

“Like what?” Merlin smiled happily, pleased with the future Arthur was weaving. 

“Like smoke horses and spark dragons. Like that – animals – but out of light. Can you do that?” 

“Probably,” Merlin nodded. “I’ll see if there’s anything in the book. Or…” he frowned and raised his hand. “ _Earendel, bútan ád_.” He broke into a wide smile as golden light pooled in his palm. “Like that?” he looked at Arthur, so eager to please, and Arthur nodded slowly, staring at the glow encased in Merlin’s slim, pale fingers. 

“Can I hold it?” he asked, sounding almost like a child to Merlin’s ears, and Merlin grinned, sitting up properly. 

“I think so. Here, cup your hands under mine…and…” he tilted his hand, and the gold slid into Arthur’s hands. It was insubstantial, weightless and warm, like holding pure sunshine. Arthur looked up at Merlin, smiling, and Merlin beamed back. 

“It’s beautiful," Arthur said softly. “It’s perfect.” He leaned forward and kissed Merlin, the light between them warming their chests. “I love you,” he whispered as he drew away, and the gold light glowed brighter than fire as Merlin leaned close and whispered, 

“I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, please consider [buying me a coffee!](https://ko-fi.com/A221HQ9) <3


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